by Sergio Gomez
The woman smiled brightly. “Hey there, sweetheart. Welcome to the Grocer.”
Her friendliness threw Scott off. None of the cashiers in his thirty-two years of living in Philadelphia had been this welcoming.
“Thank you,” he replied, almost stumbling on the words.
He watched intently as Peggy picked up item after item with fingers tipped by long, dark red nails. She used them as efficiently as a bird of prey would use its talons. It was fascinating.
By the time he realized this could be perceived as rude, it was too late. He looked up, and she was smiling a sly grin.
She waved her fingers in the air to give him a better look. “This color look good on me?”
“It looks great,” Scott said, because it was nicer to say than: Actually, no. They remind me of Freddy Kreuger’s claws, right after he uses them on a victim.
“Trying something new this month.” She said, returning to bagging the items. “Anyway, sugar, you’re not from around here, are you?”
Scott shook his head. “Nope, we just moved into our house yesterday. But I grew up in Philadelphia. What gave it away?”
Peggy laughed as she put the bag of potatoes into a brown paper bag. “People from the city have a way of interacting.”
Now it was his turn to laugh. “And how’s that?”
“Like robots in a rush.” Peggy smiled again. It was a good smile. The kind a favorite aunt might have. “Anyway, sugar, don’t mean to keep up you. Total is $32.65.”
Scott took his wallet out and pulled his card out. “You guys do take cards here in Dutch County, right?”
Peggy let out a short laugh, a laugh that told him she was amused but that he was also a jerk. “Of course we do. We’re not that far behind.”
He grinned at her as he handed the card over to her and she swiped it through the machine. “You guys get a lot of new people in town?”
“Eh, not really,” Peggy said, “which is why I get excited when a new face shows up.”
“Well, it’s your lucky day. You’ll be seeing at least two new faces besides mine.”
“Oh yeah?”
The machine let out a buzz to announce that the transaction was approved. Peggy returned the card back to him.
“Yep. My fiancée and I live in the neighborhood Rosalie, on Dudley Street. You know where that is?”
“Sugar, I know Dutch County like the back of my hand. Could walk any neighborhood here blindfolded.”
Scott grinned. “Well, alright then. I also have a son that’s visiting for the week. He wasn’t supposed to come until the weekend, for Thanksgiving break, but his mother had some sort of emergency and so now, I get him early.”
“Sounds great. I’m looking forward to meeting your family.”
“My name’s Scott, by the way.”
“I’m Peggy Sue, but everyone just calls me Peggy.”
“Nice to meet you, Peggy. Have a good one, and see you next time.”
“Mm-hmm. You have a good day, now.”
With bags in hand, Scott walked out of the grocery store. It was a little less than half a mile from here to home, but already he was kicking himself for not thinking this through. The five pounds of potatoes he bought were going to feel double, maybe triple that, by the time he got back to the house.
Chapter 8
Raymond woke up from his nap to applause coming from the television. There was confetti and balloons dropping from the ceiling as the contestant on Wheel of Fortune celebrated. The winner on today’s episode was a short lady with brown hair who couldn’t keep her hand off her chest or her mouth closed from the enthusiasm.
She looked close to his age. Maybe five years younger than him. Maybe more.
Whatever the case was, she looked like someone Raymond could have been married to. Someone he could have been dating since his late twenties, married later in life, and grown old with. Someone he could have been sharing this big house with his parents left behind.
Raymond looked over at the empty loveseat adjacent to his recliner. The darn thing was more of a decorative piece than anything. He didn’t ever have guests over to the house, so no one had sat on it since who-in-tarnation knew when.
He looked back at the television, where the woman was still standing next to Pat Sajak. She’d just won a million bucks. Or two million bucks, or whatever the prize was. He didn’t much care for Wheel of Fortune. In fact, he’d never even caught the end of a show until now.
What he did care about was the fantasy his mind had started to take him on. He pretended the woman on the screen was his wife, and that tomorrow he had to go pick her up at the airport. She’d be back from her trip to Los Angeles or New York City or whatever state had the fancy studio they recorded the show in.
She’d get off the plane wearing a new dress, new shoes, expensive earrings, nice makeup. They’d meet in the middle of the airport lobby, give each other a big hug and a kiss on the lips. Then they’d stare into each other’s eyes, letting the love fill them. They would kiss one more time before leaving the airport. The people around them would stare in awe at two people being this in love with each other. Maybe some would even give them dirty, jealous looks.
Holding hands the whole time, they would find his Mercedes (in reality he drove an old Chevy, but the fantasies sometimes grew lives of their own) in the airport parking lot. He would load her luggage into the trunk, then he would open the car door for her and peck her on the lips before she climbed in.
They’d end the night by going to a nice dinner downtown. Maybe Fry’s Seafood or the Silver Monkey Pub. His wife would tell him all about winning the game show, all about the tailor who made her dress, all about the state she’d visited. They’d laugh and talk and stare lovingly into each other’s eyes until they left to come back home.
The talking would end, and they would get into bed to express their passion in that way.
Raymond snapped out of the fantasy just as his pretend wife was slipping her top off. That was as far as he ever got when he went down these lanes, because the sex wasn’t the important part to him. He’d taken in the sweetness of the romance, and that was enough.
On the television, the woman who’d been the target of his fantasies this time was gone. All of Wheel of Fortune was gone, actually, and replaced by a daytime court show. The kind that reminded him of pro wrestling. Unlike some of his friends in college who hung posters of those brutes in their dorms, he’d never cared for fake drama entertainment. Raymond flicked the television off and got out of the recliner.
He stretched his arms out, arched his back to a series of cracks that sounded like a child playing with bubble wrap, then tried to touch his toes. He barely got to his knees when he felt the strain on his hamstrings and had to stop.
Raymond went over to the front door, grabbed his coat off the rack, and headed out. The trips his imagination took him on always prompted him to take trips in real life.
Soda crackers, a quarter pound of ham, a tray of cubed cheese, apple juice, cashews, and of course a large box of Alka-Seltzer. He was a few days early with his grocery shopping, but that didn’t make a difference. Peggy knew who was at the other end of the belt without having to look.
Peggy had learned over her twenty years working at the Grocer that people’s shopping trends were as unique to their identity as fingerprints. She wondered why the police officers on those mystery TV shows never rummaged through the trash to find the suspect’s grocery receipts and then ask the cashiers at the local stores to identify them.
“Mr. Gibson, how do you do?” Peggy said as he came up to the register.
“I’m feeling good today, young lady. How are you doing on this fine afternoon?”
“My lips can still smile, so as long as I can do that, I’m doing good.”
“I hear you on that, Peggy.”
She started grabbing his items and ringing him up. “Any new toys you working on, Mr. Gibson?”
“Just finished my latest. It’s a seesaw with two
boys riding pumpkins. I think the neighborhood kids will get a kick out of it.”
Peggy laughed her customer-is-always-funny laugh. She’d perfected it years ago, but occasionally, like now, a snort would escape at the end of it. “That’s a good one.”
“Sure is. Took me longer to make than I hoped, but in the retired life, you can spare losing some time here and there. Hope the neighbors don’t mind my display being done late. It was for Halloween, and here it is almost Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, I’m sure they understand, Mr. Gibson.” Peggy grabbed the ham, fiddled around with trying to figure out where Chuck stuck the barcode this time until she found it on the side and scanned it. “Speaking of neighbors, met your new one earlier today.”
“Did you, now? Was it the young Hispanic woman?”
Peggy shook her head. “No, her fiancé. Scott.”
“That explains that,” Raymond said, solving the mystery of why Scott had been out walking.
“I’m sorry?”
He shook his head. “Never you mind, Peggy.”
Peggy carried on. “Seems like a nice enough guy.”
“Met him once or twice.” Raymond said, nodding. Maybe except for all those tattoos, this Scott fellow would be a nice enough addition to the neighborhood.
Peggy put the soda crackers in the bag with the Alka-Seltzer and read the total to him. “$37.54.”
Raymond handed her two twenties. She popped the number into the register, then handed him his change. As she dropped the coins into his palm, he noticed her fingernails.
“Trying something new?”
“Figure the leaves were changing, I may as well, too,” Peggy giggled.
“Good choice,” Raymond said, picking up his bags. “Well, Peggy. Until next time.”
“Until next time, Mr. Gibson. Have a great rest of your day.”
He nodded, then left the store.
Peggy grabbed the Windex from the cubby underneath the register and a roll of paper towels. Her “neat-freak” instincts, as her sisters and college roommates called it, kicked in when someone put lunchmeat down on the belt.
As she sprayed it down and wiped it clean, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her interaction with Mr. Gibson was different today. Unusual.
Nothing alarming, but just different.
Chapter 9
Scott finished making the potato salad just as he heard the jangle of keys as Maria came through the door. He gave the mixture in the bowl one last turn over with the wooden spoon, then went over to wash his hands in the sink.
Maria came into the kitchen and threw her arms around his waist. “You’re like my very own Rosie the Robot. I could get used to this.”
He finished rinsing his hands and turned to face her. She smelled like French fries and coffee, but that didn’t stop him from hugging her and planting a kiss on her lips.
“You better not be drying your hands on my shirt,” she warned.
Scott pulled away from her, smirking, and showed his wet hands to her. “I promise I wasn’t doing any such thing, señorita.”
“Good, ’cause this was the only shirt they had that fit me. They said they won’t get the shipment they ordered for me until Sunday.”
“Yikes,” Scott said. He grabbed the potato salad off the counter and walked it over to the dining room table. “How was it? You like it?”
“Yeah, it was fine. The setup is a little different than the one in the city, but familiar enough.”
Maria worked at a chain of diners that were aptly named “X Diner,” where X was the name of the location they were in. They’d put the transfer in for her from the Rittenhouse Diner to the Dutch County Diner when they bought the house.
Scott nodded in approval. “You hungry, babe?”
Maria stretched her neck out to peek into the bowl. “Now I am.”
“Good. You go get changed and I’ll set the table.”
Maria took her apron off, rolled it up, and headed out of the kitchen.
She returned five minutes later, and Scott had the table set. In the middle of the setup sat a whole chicken with steam still rising up from it and the bowl of potato salad. Two plates with utensils were set out, too, though he’d gotten the order of the fork and the knife mixed up. It was the effort that made her smile.
Her stomach grumbled. The training and the lunch rush had been so hectic she’d only gotten a chance to take a few bites out of a tuna wrap before she left it sitting the rest of her shift. By the time she’d had enough time to come back to it, the tuna and lettuce were warm, so she’d trashed it.
Scott cut off the two drumsticks and served one on each plate, then worked on slicing up pieces of the breast. “How was the clientele?”
“Different than Philly, for sure.”
He’d expected that answer.
He served the slices of chicken while Maria served herself up a hefty spoonful of potato salad. Scott sat back down when he was done serving.
“How different?” he asked.
“There was a very large woman…” Maria made her eyes big as if to say that she was so large you had to bulge your eyes to fit her in your vision. “With rowdy kids. But, everyone ate right through the noise. It was very odd.”
“I think you might’ve experienced what they call culture-shock.”
“You’d know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t you?”
Of course he did. Dating a Mexican woman, the first time he’d met her family for dinner he’d been presented with a bowl of tripe soup followed by a platter of chicken floating in a brown sauce that looked a little too close to baby shit for comfort. It’d tasted delicious once he’d stomached through the visuals, though.
“I may have had a culture-shock moment myself.”
“Of course you did, City Boy,” Maria teased as she forked some potato salad into her mouth.
“Yeah, the cashier that rang me up at the grocery store today was rather interesting.”
“Oh, that’s right. How was your venturing?”
“It was OK, until I decided to go food shopping without a trunk to carry all of the stuff back with.”
“Poor baby.”
“I’m a different man now that I have a cushy office job.”
“I’m just teasing. You’re still my handsome, strong alpha male,” Maria winked.
Scott felt the front of his pants get tight as he started to work an erection. There was something about moving in to a new place that always seemed to reinvigorate the passion in a relationship. It’d happened when he moved into Maria’s place back in Philadelphia, and before that it’d happened when he and Jenna first moved in together too.
“The cashier,” Maria said, steering the conversation back.
“Oh. She had more makeup than I’d ever seen anyone wearing. Like she thought her face was a canvas.”
“Was she nice?”
“Very nice. Almost overly nice.”
“Yeah, it seems everyone in Dutch County is that way.”
“Would explain why no one told those children in the restaurant to shut their traps.”
“Possibly.”
“Oh, and I met one of the neighborhood kids, too,” he added. “A boy named Oliver, but they call him Twist.” He paused, as if to let her figure it out.
“Right. Like in the Charles Dickens book. I get it.”
He nodded. The impulse to pause to see if someone understood a simple joke or pun was hard to fight against and always embarrassing—especially if they hadn’t needed it. “He’s around Jack’s age, which I’m glad about.”
“Yeah, so you can send him to go play with him while we do naughty things upstairs.”
The tightness in his pants returned. “Boy, you’re sure fired up.”
“Oh, come on Scott. How long has it been?”
He counted in his head, and realized they’d only had sex twice this month. They’d been too busy trying to get everything with the house squared away to have thought about doing any of that stuff. “Too lon
g.”
“Something about living in a town surrounded by the woods gets me fired up. It’s like we’re in a secret pocket of the world.”
Scott couldn’t help but laugh. It made Maria frown, but that still didn’t stop him. “I’m like your knight in shining armor that carried you away to a magical forest, huh?”
Maria’s frown turned into a grin. She squinted her eyes at him. “Well, when you put it like that…”
Scott got up and walked around the table to her. He grabbed her by the shoulders, bent down, and kissed her lips. He moved down to her neck, then moved his hands over her breasts.
Maria grabbed his hands and pulled away from him. “Upstairs?”
“Let’s go.”
Chapter 10
Raymond watched as the van pulled up to the curb outside the park fence. Something was different about the van. He couldn’t quite tell what it was, though.
The driver door opened, and Rosa stepped out.
Ernesto was missing. He wasn’t in any of the passenger seats. That’s why the van had looked different.
Maybe he’s sick.
Yeah, that had to be it.
Raymond laced his fingers together, then unlaced them, then laced them again. He did this as he watched Rosa come through the gate.
Something pulled at his heart strings, made him gulp.
Rosa stopped at the other end of the table—where there was no bench to allow people to park their wheelchairs—and put a gift-wrapped box down on it. Using both hands, she slid it to Raymond’s side of the table.
“Present for you, Señor Gibson,” Rosa said in broken English. The sentence seemed rehearsed so that she wouldn’t mess it up when the time came.
Raymond nodded and brought the box closer to his side of the table. It was small, about the size of a jewelry box. “Ernesto… Is he…gone?”
Raymond pointed up to the sky.
Rosa bobbed her head. “Si, señor. Se murio.”
He nodded again. It was too much for his mind to take in at the moment, so he couldn’t cry. Raymond looked at Rosa’s face, and saw her eyes were wet, but she wasn’t crying either. He figured she’d cried herself dry by now.